Star of the Sea
by serfrancisbacon
Summary: She could forgive him for what he did, but she could never forget. Kol/OC. ABANDONED.
1. Chapter I

Disclaimer: Don't own TVD.

I was born 40 years before the 11th century in Europe, to a maritime trading family company on the coast of France. My father was gone most of the year on his precious ships, and his brother, my uncle, stayed at home with us and managed the clerical matters. Up until I turned 15, I was expected to help my mother and younger siblings (all seven of them) around the house with chores and such. Sometimes my uncle, when he was too tired, would allow me to help him balance the books. I enjoyed it; it was good, honest work and I learned my numbers. Sometimes he'd teach me to read, as well, but books and paper and ink were few and far between and I'd have to make do with the company's accounts.

Then my uncle died, when I was 15, and since I was the only one in my family (besides my father) who knew how to calculate numbers and somewhat read, I took my uncle's place. Secretly, of course; it was still the time when women were viewed as unintelligent. The official story was that my younger brother, a year younger than me, had taken my uncle's position. And people in the town didn't see any problem with that.

I loved the bookkeeping, the reading, the learning. I loved it more than I ever thought I would.

When I was 17, and my father returned from his 3-year journey, he was shocked and angry to see his eldest daughter managing the company instead of his eldest son. Even a thousand years later, I can remember the fury in his expression as he roared at my mother:

"You let Marielle run my company!" he bellowed, and overturned our wooden dining table. "Marie should be milking the cow! My son is who should be running this company!"

That was the first night I'd ever seen him hit my mother, and the first night I'd wanted to kill him.

The next morning, my father engaged me to the son of the richest man in town. Through our marriage, my father would merge his trading company with the much more prosperous one of my soon-to-be father-in-law and become a shareholder.

I was married to Christophe a month later. With that came all the duties of a wife. I was not allowed to question my husband, and I was to do all he ordered me to do. The one time I asked to visit my dearest friend, Véronique, he backhanded me so hard that the bruise didn't fade for weeks. And during that time I was forbidden to leave the house, for Christophe feared that the neighbors would see and talk.

I hated my husband, and it both scared me and thrilled me to discover I was with child five months later. I was intensely afraid, for what mother wanted to bring a child into a family such as this? Yet I was also intensely joyful; I was so looking forward to the day when I would be able to hold my own child in my arms, to feel that protective love my own mother was supposed to feel for me.

Christophe wanted a son. I yearned for a daughter, but hoped for a son; a son ensured that my child and I would stay in Christophe's good graces.

It was during this time Christophe graciously allowed me to finally visit Véronique, and Véronique to visit me. She married a year before I did, yet she and her husband were content to never have children. Either that or she never saw her husband, as I was under the impression she didn't like him very much.

It was also during this time that I discovered Christophe and Véronique were having an affair; it hurt less than it should have, but it was enough for me to ask to move back to my parent's home until the baby was born. Mercifully, Christophe let me go without a fight.

I went into labor on a Sunday, when my entire family was at church. No one was around to help, no one was around to hear me scream with every contraction. At least, that was what I believed.

I was laid out on the bed, sweating, recovering from my last contraction, when I felt cool hands on my face.

"How far apart are your contractions, my lady?"

My eyelids fluttered open weakly. A tall, muscular man dressed in opulent finery stood over me, an intense expression on his face. He had brown hair and a cleft in his chin.

"Not very far…minutes, I suppose…"

I felt him move to the end of the bed. "At the next one, what I want you to do is push," he said firmly. "Do you think you could do that?"

"Who…who are you?" I panted.

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. "Just an apothecary who's passing by."

If I had been smarter, I would have screamed for him to leave. But in the state of pain and exhaustion and desperation I was in, I was just eager for it to all end.

I felt another contraction coming on.

The apothecary braced my knees. "Push!"

It was pain beyond all pain, but I obeyed the his instructions to keep pushing. Dimly, I realized another man was in the room, standing at the door.

"Keep pushing. I can see his head," the apothecary urged. "Keep pushing!"

Intense pain. That was all I remembered, that and screaming, before another noise pierced the room: a baby's wail.

"My…baby…" I whispered weakly.

The apothecary smiled at me, but it wasn't a very nice smile. "Congratulations," he said shortly, wrapping the baby in some blankets and handing the bundle to the man by the door. "You have a stillborn son."

"Stillborn? I…can hear him crying," I said faintly, not understanding.

"Kol, if you are here for a meal, would you mind hurrying it up?" the man by the doorway said irritably.

"With pleasure." The apothecary, Kol, clambered onto the bed, leaning over me.

"What…what are you doing?" I squeaked, fear coursing through me.

He glanced down at me, smiling wickedly. "I wouldn't worry, my lady. I'm merely…hungry." He brought a hand to my face, still slick with sweat, and rubbed my bottom lip with his thumb. "Quite a beauty," he said softly.

Angrily, I bit into his thumb, tasting blood. "Let me go! Give me my son, you infidel!"

He growled. If that wasn't frightening enough, his eyes glowed red. Veins protruded around his eyes, his face paled considerably, and his teeth began to sharpen.

And then he bit into my neck, draining me of blood, and I thrashed hopelessly against his steel grip on me. I must have screamed, but to be honest, to this day, I don't remember. Maybe I did, or maybe I didn't, but I do remember him laughing exultantly whenever he raised his head.

That was the day I died. Only 18, a mother for less than five minutes, and I was dead. From the pieces I picked up later, I discovered that my family returned from church to find my body, drained of blood, on the bed, with a wailing baby boy set in my arms. They assumed I had bled to death. And in a way, that was true.

My body was unceremoniously dumped behind the church, where my family was to bury it the next day. As it was the Sabbath, it was decreed that no one was to do any work, so it was a sign of how much I meant to my family that they actually carted my body to the church in the first place.

My body would have been buried the next day if it weren't for that drop of vampire blood I had ingested when I bit the apothecary's finger.

I awoke around midnight, completely disoriented. Everything seemed out of joint.

In a way, it's hard to explain. Sure, my senses were all heightened: sight, smell, touch, hearing. But it was the internal substances that scared me the most: the rage, the fear, the hunger, the love. I never knew how much I hated Christophe or my father until now. I never knew how betrayed I felt by Véronique until now. I never knew how much I loved my unnamed son until now.

I stood, wobbling on my knees. My dress cracked, and I realized it was stiff with blood. Yet I felt awakened, as if I was searching for something, but I didn't know what. An excitement swirled within me, an ignorant, naïve excitement. My thinking went along the lines that death could not conquer me, for I was sure I had been dead. I didn't know what a vampire was, I didn't know what being in transition would drive me to do; all I knew then was that I was dead, and then I came back to life.

Fool that I was, I went to see Christophe. I needed a change of clothes and a talk with my husband about the way he'd been treating me.

His eyes bulged out when he saw me. "Marielle?" he stuttered.

I smiled indulgently. "Who else could it be, my lord?"

"Your father told me you died in childbirth," he said suspiciously.

"I am not a phantom, nor am I a spirit, my lord," I said irritably. "I am flesh and blood, and in dire need of a change of clothes."

Suspicion still clouded his eyes but he stepped aside. I stepped up to the door but found my way blocked by something invisible.

Christophe saw my hesitation and snapped, "Well, what are you waiting for? Come in."

The invisible barrier disappeared and I stepped over the threshold, slightly nonplussed. That was the first sign in my mind something was slightly off.

"I take it my parents thought I died in childbirth," I said over my shoulder from our bedroom. "I must have just fainted."

"You must have." His tone told me he was annoyed.

I slipped out of my torn dress, washed my arms and legs, and slipped into another dress. "I'll have to go see them tomorrow and fix their error in judgment."

"I don't think you will, Marielle."

I spun around, seeing him advance towards me with a silver dagger. "What…what do you think you're doing?" I said slowly, backing up.

"You've been nothing but a bother ever since I married you," he spat out, stopping three feet from me. "I only married you for your beauty and so I could have an heir. Your father promised me that you would be a bore I could easily tuck away should I feel like it."

"Christophe, you're mad."

"Am I?" His eyes glinted with barely suppressed anger. "I hired those men to kill you, Marielle, my star-of-the-sea. I hired them to kill you once you bore my son. But it seems they did not complete the job properly, as I instructed them to." He let out a harsh bark of laughter. "It seems to get anything done, I'll have to do it myself."

And then he lunged at me. I acted on instinct, without thinking, sprinting to the other side of the room.

"What…?" He spun around towards me, looking all the more angry and confused. "How did you get over there?" He then shook his head, as if to clear it. "No matter – you can't escape." He hefted the dagger and came at me again.

This time my whole body braced itself against his charge. When he brought the dagger to my chest, my fingers closed around his wrist and forced his hand to bury the knife into his own body.

Blood spurted out of his chest and he fell backwards, clutching at the hilt. I stared, not able to comprehend what I just did. But then something else distracted me entirely:

The smell of his blood.

It was the sweetest smell in the world, something so irresistible that it would have been a crime for me not to partake in it. As if in a trance, I moved forward, kneeling by his side. My fingertips dipped into the blood bubbling at the hole.

"Wh…Marie…" he gasped, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth.

Slowly, I brought my fingertips to my lips and tasted human blood for the first time in my life. I knew I should have been repulsed by it, but at that point, I just didn't care anymore. Before I could blink, or before I knew what I was doing, Christophe's body was drained of blood and I felt whole.

I was a vampire.


	2. Chapter II

*A/N: So my first chapter was a trial run to see how readily readers would embrace my first ever fanfiction; apparently I'm on the right track and people actually do want to read what I've put forth. Therefore, I'll keep on writing; hopefully I won't disappoint anybody, and I apologize beforehand if I do.

As for updating, it's going to be pretty erratic from here on out, but I'll try to update as often as possible. I know how frustrating it can be to find a story you like, only to read what's there and wait a month for the author to update. I wouldn't want to do that to anybody, but I do have to juggle school and sports and a social life. And so, with that…

I give you Chapter II.

And a disclaimer: I don't own TVD.

* * *

><p>Had I known that drinking Christophe's blood would have forced me to live how I did, I probably would have run for the hills to die in peace. But I didn't know anything, so I just did whatever I felt compelled to do.<p>

The blood smelled good. My body screamed for it. So I drank and became a vampire.

It took only a couple seconds for Christophe's death to sink in. That feeling of wholeness disappeared, replaced with stark horror at what I did. I had killed a man. Not just a man; I had slaughtered my husband.

Before dawn, Véronique found me sitting by Christophe's body, clutching his hand, staring blankly at him. I can still remember her scream to this day – the shrillness, the pure agony, the terror.

She took one look at me, the dried blood on my face, the blood on my dress, and recoiled.

"Marielle?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but I could hear it clearly; it cracked with fear. "I thought you were dead." There was a pregnant pause. "Did…did you do this?"

I turned my face up at her. I didn't even have to answer; she looked into my eyes, and she _knew_.

"No – you could not have," she began stammering, backing away from me. "No!"

I stood unsteadily, not understanding why I could hear her heart beating so loudly and quickly. "Véronique, please – "

"No!" She raised her hand at me, as if to stop me. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Don't come near me, you _monster_!"

I stopped short.

_Monster_.

I was a monster.

"How could you?" she sobbed, sagging against the doorway. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, rocking back and forth. "Christophe…"

It was at that moment I realized how much of a right my friend, my childhood friend, my bosom sister had to hate me. She had loved Christophe while I hadn't, and she was forced to watch me be his wife. She was forced to see me carrying his child, while she could only hope and dream of doing the same. And now here I was – standing beside his dead, drained body. I had killed him.

I was a monster.

"Véronique…" I hesitantly took a step towards her, my insides churning. The guilt…never before had I felt such guilt.

And never had I felt such pain when my dearest friend fled from the room.

She was fleeing from me.

* * *

><p>She wasn't the only one. Everyone deserted me – and I didn't blame them.<p>

When Véronique left and the sun had risen, I tried to go after her, to explain, to do anything. But after stepping one foot outside the door, I recoiled in pain; the sunlight seared through my skin, leaving it red and throbbing. I watched, entranced, as it miraculously healed before my very eyes.

I couldn't go out in the sunlight. I was trapped.

"Véronique!"

Her retreating figure didn't stop. I stumbled back into the house, taking care to stay away from the windows. Panic was rising within me and I couldn't subdue it. Tears ran down my cheeks, blinding my eyes, and I slid to the ground, clutching at the wall.

It was so overwhelming that it nearly incapacitated me: the fear, the pain, the guilt, the confusion. It was difficult to breathe; the emotional pain felt more like physical pain to my chest more than anything, and I hated it.

The villagers of Massalia (my town) came sometime in the afternoon, led by my angry father. I could smell their fear – and their hatred. Véronique was among them, a staunchly determined expression on her face. With a heavy heart, I listened as they threatened to kill me if I didn't leave town soon. I was told in no uncertain terms that it was because of Véronique's plea for mercy that I wasn't killed on the spot. That cushioned the blow only slightly.

As soon as evening hit and the sunlight could no longer burn me, I left with nothing more than the clothes on my back. I promised myself it wouldn't be forever; once I learned how to control myself, to not let blood control me, I would come back and make up for all the wrongs I did. I would come back, I told myself, to raise my son and see him grow up, and to fix everything that was broken.

* * *

><p>It was harder than I expected. As I couldn't walk around in the sunlight, it was incredibly difficult to travel through the country. I resorted to wandering at night and finding a house to stay in during the day.<p>

I remember when I first realized that I could compel others to do what I wanted; it was my first day (technically, night) after leaving my town, and the sun was coming up. I had to find shelter.

The first home I happened on was a small farm owned by an elderly couple. As anyone else would be, they were suspicious of a young girl knocking on their door at such an ungodly hour, but I knew I would be unable to enter their house without an invitation.

"I am sorry, young woman, but we have no room for you," the old man grunted as he made to close the door.

I looked into his eyes, desperate for him to understand my predicament. "Please – sir," I begged. "Let me in. I shall die if you do not."

It was strange; one moment he was frowning heavily at me with the intent to shut me out. The next, his expression glazed over and he smiled welcomingly at me. "Please enter my home," he said pleasantly, stepping back to let me in.

"Alain!" his wife exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

He frowned, uncertain. "Letting the poor girl in, of course."

Despite his invitation in, I stood at the entrance, mystified. Slowly making the connection, it dawned on to me: all I had to do was look in his eyes, tell him to do something, and he would do it.

Stepping into the threshold, I decided to test my theory on his wife: "Ma'am, you are to welcome me into your home and give me a place to stay."

The same, blank expression appeared on her face for a moment. Then she smiled, much as her husband had, and she said, "My dear, do you need a place to stay for the rest of the day? You look absolutely exhausted."

I felt guilty about it, as I felt guilty about every little thing I did, but then I remembered that I needed a shelter to hide in. Without knowing it, I turned a little bit of the switch and began to harden myself against feeling ashamed, against feeling anything.

* * *

><p>I developed a rhythm during the next few years. Travel during the night, find a place to stay during the day. I established a semblance of control over my urges to drink human blood; I would be lying if I said that I wasn't repulsed by drinking blood from people, but I had to drink to survive. I was so careful, though, not to <em>kill<em> anybody, unlike the man who fed from me.

Despite my orders to stay away from my town, occasionally I would sneak back in to see how my family, Véronique, and my son were doing. But I admit it: I was afraid to make myself known. I was scared to reveal myself to my town; I was terrified of how they'd react. I wasn't stupid enough to believe that they'd welcome me back arms open wide; after all, I had killed the son of the richest man in town. But deep down inside, I held on to the foolish hope that they would. I so desperately wanted to be a part of my son's life.

He was beautiful. He had my black hair, my nose, my mouth. From what I saw, Véronique had adopted him because my own parents didn't want him. Her husband didn't care.

I don't remember when I first realized that I wasn't aging; maybe it was the eighth year, or the ninth. But I did notice it, and it frightened me. As the only one of my 'kind' that I knew, I didn't know if it was normal. I didn't know what was going to happen to me. But the stark conclusion hit me that if I wasn't aging, I was going to live forever.

And forever was a very long time.

I hated what I was. I hated that I had to drain life out of others in order to live. I hated not being able to enjoy the sunlight. I hated manipulating people. I hated almost every little thing about myself, because it meant that I couldn't live among normal people.

I also hated how I could make myself feel _nothing_; I could just turn off the guilt, the anger, the pain, the joy, the happiness. It was so easy to do it, but it also made it a whole lot easier for me to kill, for me to compel, for me to do whatever it was that would make 'human me' upset. It was a constant struggle not to turn off my emotions, but it kept me accountable. I like to say that I did the best I could have done with my circumstances, and I hold to that.

10 years after I left Massalia, I came back with the intent of visiting Véronique. At the borders of the town, I heard snatches of conversation that confirmed my worst fear: she was sick and dying.

I snuck into town at night, speeding past people to avoid them. I didn't want a confrontation just yet. At Véronique's door, I paused a whole minute before knocking. Doubts raced through my mind: was I right in coming back to see her, one last time before she died? Or was I being selfish, wanting to see her when she probably didn't want to see me?

But in the end, I knocked before I could second-guess myself any more than I already was. I was already here. I might as well do what I came to do.

My son opened the door.

He was ten now, with long black hair that curled at the tips. He had Christophe's bright hazel eyes and my faint splattering of freckles across his nose. I almost choked at just taking in his appearance. How was I supposed to feel? I was glad he looked healthy and strong, but it hurt, it physically _hurt_, to know that I was not the one who raised him.

He held a candle and squinted into the darkness to see who it was. "Can I help you, Ma'am?"

I felt my eyes begin to fill with tears. "Is Véronique in there?"

My son moved back, letting me see into the small house. Véronique's withered form was tucked into a bed shoved against the corner of the room. "Mama, this lady is asking for you."

_Mama_.

Véronique raised her head slightly and saw me. Whatever color was in her face disappeared; she looked shocked, frightened, and guilty, all at once. "Marielle."

I hesitated. "Could I come in?"

She stared at me for a long moment. How I wished I could have known what she was thinking; of all the abilities I gained, that would have been most useful.

Then:

"Of course. Please come in."

I took an uncertain step in, past my son; he stared up at me with open-mouthed fascination that would have been funny in a different situation. Véronique shifted against her blankets.

Her house smelled like death.

I knelt by her bed, smiling sadly. "It's been ten years."

"You haven't aged a day," she whispered, raising a trembling hand. I took it; her hand was cold and weak.

"No, I haven't," I replied softly. "I wish I could say the same for you."

She gave a choking laugh, only a shadow of the full-bellied laugh she used to give. "I'm dying of consumption."

"If I could take your place, you know I would."

"Why?" She frowned heavily. "I had you exiled from this town. Why would you do that?"

"Because I will never die."

Her eyes widened. Then she turned to my son and asked him, "Christophe, sweetheart, please go back to bed. I'll call for you if I need anything."

"Yes, Mama." He clambered up onto the bed next to her and kissed her cheek. "Good night."

"Good night, Christophe," she replied tenderly, smiling slightly as she watched him.

I waited a whole five seconds before voicing my thoughts. "You named him Christophe?"

"I had no choice in the matter," she confessed. "His grandfather insisted on it."

Unsure of what to say next, I stayed silent. Véronique broke it first.

"Marielle, what happened to you?"

It was then I realized I never told anybody what had happened to me; I had never told anybody about the apothecary, Kol, or what he did to me after I gave birth to Christophe. It was a burden I had carried alone.

"Do you want to know?" I asked softly, looking into her eyes to see if she would tell the truth or not.

In response, she gripped my hand tighter. "Of course I want to know. You used to confide in me for everything."

So I told her everything, starting from my marriage to Christophe. I told her about Kol, about me accidentally swallowing a drop of his blood, of him drinking all of mine, of me dying. I told her how when I went home to Christophe, he had tried to kill me. Véronique's face whitened even further when she heard, but she didn't say anything.

I told her of all the changes had happened to me, how I couldn't walk in sunlight, how I could run faster than the eye could see, how I could heal almost instantaneously, how all my senses were heightened. But I left out how I could compel people; that wasn't something I was proud of.

She listened quietly throughout the whole thing, not interrupting me even once. It felt good to tell just one person about what I had been through the last ten years; I felt as if I was relieving some of my burden.

At the end, she clasped my hand and brought it to her lips. "I am so, so sorry," she whispered brokenly, "that all this has happened to you."

"I am sorry also," I admitted.

What she said next I would have never expected: "Can you turn me into what you are?"

I sat in a shocked silence before asking, "What do you mean?"

"Marielle," she said, fervor in her eyes, "you said if you could help me live, you would."

"I did not say it like that –"

"Listen, please. I do not want to die." She unsuccessfully tried to sit up in her bed; I helped prop her up against the wall. "You could turn me into what you are, and I could live forever, like you."

"Véronique, this isn't to be taken lightly."

"I know," she said dismissively. "But what other solution could there be? There is no cure for my sickness. I will die within the month. But you could _help me live_."

It sounded so tempting. To have a companion while I lived out my forever. To have Véronique, of all people, as a lifelong friend. I was sorely drawn to the idea.

But then the stark reality hit me. Would I really condemn another to a lifestyle like mine? I was constantly on the move. Every day I struggled against the almost uncontrollable urge to drain the life out of another person. And on my bad days…well, I feel guilty afterwards. If I was dying of consumption, I would not trade it for this cursed lifestyle.

I couldn't be selfish. Not with her.

It almost broke my heart to tell her. "I am so sorry, Véronique," I said softly. "But I would not wish my life on anyone."

"But –"

"You don't understand what I suffer every day," I said fiercely, but quietly. "It's not a life anyone should want."

"You get to live forever," she whispered.

It hit me. I would live forever, while everyone I knew would grow old and wither and die. And I would be left alone, to continue, to endure for all time. It wasn't right; in fact, it was downright _wrong_. But it was the reality, and I would literally have to live with it.

And then I realized something else. I had to move on; I had to let go. I had filled these past ten years trying to find a way to assimilate back into my old life, the life I had when I was still human. But I wasn't human anymore. If I was to live forever, I had to let go of what wouldn't. Because the blunt truth was that everyone I knew and loved would die, and it would only bring me more pain.

I had to move on.

"I am _forced_ to live forever," I said in response to Véronique. "I am forced to live forever while everything around me dies. It's not something I would want you to have to carry." I hated what I was going to do next: I compelled her. "You are not to wish to be like me."

She looked at me for a moment before settling back down in her pillows. "I suppose you are right." I could already see the fight going out of her, the sleep taking over her eyes. "Like you always are."

I squeezed her hand.

"Will you say good-bye to Christophe?" she whispered.

Countering, I replied, "I do not think that would be a good idea."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Could you ever forgive me?"

"Of course." I knew exactly what she was referring to, the fact that it was she who raised my son and not me. Reluctantly I stood and pushed away from her bed. It was time for me to go. "I shall leave you now."

"Will I see you again?" The question was spoken softly, almost hesitantly.

"No." I had to be honest. "You will not."

A tear trickled down the side of her face. "I will make sure Christophe is taken care of. I swear it."

"Thank you." I leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Good-bye, Véronique."

"Good-bye," she murmured, eyes fluttering. When I turned to look back at her from the door, she was already sound asleep, her once-beautiful face wasted from stress and illness. But there was a peace about her, as if she had accepted her fate. And for that I was glad.

After I left her humble home, I sped away, not caring which direction I ran in. I ran until I felt like stopping, about an hour before dawn. And when night came again, I kept on running until I was far enough away that the pain was dulled.

When I reached the Sicily, I swore to myself that I would never return to France.


	3. Chapter III

*A/N: Hey guys. I'm super sorry that I haven't updated in so long. My pig-headed male progenitor decided to block off on my computer and…well, that means I can't update very often. I'm doing my best to find a loophole, though, and if this is posted then it worked.

Thanks for the reviews I've received; you know who you are. At the risk of sounding maudlin, those reviews are what motivate me to keep writing (even though I've only published two chapters before this). So, if you would like to see more…please review!

I've also taken a couple liberties with the content. Nothing big, I promise, but it's an integral part of the whole Marielle/Kol pairing.

And so, with that…

I give you Chapter III.

And a disclaimer: I don't own TVD.

* * *

><p>I celebrated my 100th birthday in Florence, Italy. A lovelier place I couldn't have imagined; it was bustling with people and activity, the perfect distraction for my overwrought mind. Just last year, Pope Nicholas II dedicated the baptistery, and it was beautiful. I had traveled to Florence for the express purpose of seeing it; I wasn't disappointed.<p>

Over the last 70 years or so, I had journeyed extensively through countless regions, collecting information, learning, living. Anything to keep me occupied and busy. Despite all that, I couldn't deny that my life had no meaning. I had all of eternity and all I was doing was, basically, collecting books. What good did that do anyone? What good did that do me?

I'll admit the hurt had faded somewhat, but it was still there. A constant, dull ache that flared up whenever I paused enough to think of Christophe and Véronique. So I didn't pause. I occupied my time with whatever I could find, dead set on never thinking about any of them again. But I could never bring myself to take that last step and turn my emotions off; it felt as if I'd be shaming their memory somehow. They had existed, and they had helped to shape who I became; I couldn't forget them, but I didn't want the pain. So I found a sort of middle ground that I just lived with.

There was a baptism happening in the baptistery now; whenever one took place, all the citizens would gather as a sign of solidarity, all witnesses to the infant's induction into their community. It was heartwarming, in a way. And in another, it made me feel the loneliest I had ever felt.

I watched from across the street, in the shelter of the home of an elderly couple and their family. I had convinced them that I was a relative, traveling from Pisa. Compelling had gotten slightly easier as time passed, but not quite.

Across the way, a couple walked along the baptistery. The woman, a beautiful redhead, was nearly skipping alongside the man.

"Oh, Finn, it's beautiful," she said joyfully. I could hear the two easily.

"The baptistery? Perhaps it is, but you, my dear…" He drew her to him and kissed her forehead. The woman smiled, seemingly oblivious to everything else.

From my vantage point across the road, I also smiled – but indulgently. They were by no means young lovers; but they were still lovers, and it made me smile to think that love as simple as theirs still existed.

I wasn't positive of when I noticed something remotely wrong, but I know the man, Finn, realized something was wrong the moment I moved from my window spot. He stiffened and turned his head in my direction so sharply that I was startled.

"Finn?" the woman asked hesitantly. "Is something the matter?"

He shushed her, cautiously drawing her closer to his side. "There's another vampire."

"Klaus?" she whispered.

"I don't know."

And then I knew what was wrong: their heartbeats were slowed to the point that they shouldn't have been alive. They were living, breathing, moving, and yet they had slow heartbeats. Just like me.

I didn't know what to think. Should I be happy that there was more of my kind? Or should I be running and screaming in the other direction? Because if these two were anything like Kol was, I wanted nothing to do with them. But if they weren't…

"Who are you?" Finn said sharply. "I know you can hear me. Reveal yourself."

I took a deep breath; not because I needed to, but to calm my nerves. They couldn't reach me inside of the house if they hadn't been invited in. "I cannot go out in the sunlight."

Both Finn and the woman relaxed visibly.

"It's not Klaus, and Rebekah's voice is lower," the woman asserted, relieved. "And both can go out in the sun."

Finn raised an eyebrow in my direction. "Perhaps."

I was curious now; who were these people? Who was Klaus? Who was Rebekah? I wanted answers, answers to questions that I had had for nearly a century. Maybe they could answer them.

"Are you fleeing from someone?"

"You could say that." Finn sounded wry. "But I am more curious to learn about you, young vampire. How long ago were you turned?"

It would have been strange, for any humans to be conversing from positions across a wide road, but we could hear each other as clear as day. I moved out from behind the curtain, though making sure to stay in the shade. "Eighty-two years to the day."

Both of their expressions registered shock, Finn and the woman. Whether they were shocked by my age or my youthful looks, I couldn't tell. But they were stunned, and therefore inquisitive. Well, so was I. And I would use it to my advantage.

* * *

><p>I sat on the provided wooden chair, quietly observing Finn and the woman, whose name I still did not know. They both looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties, the age where most were expected to have a brood of children already. But their home looked empty, almost <em>too<em> clean.

They had invited me into their home when the sun had set enough that I could easily walk about in the streets. Technically, I hadn't needed to be invited in to the house, because they weren't human. But entering a house without permission felt odd, anyhow, so I had waited for an invitation.

The woman sat across from me, Finn standing behind her and resting his hands on her shoulders. "My name is Sage," she revealed. "And this is Finn."

"Marielle."

"Yes. I noticed your French accent earlier," Finn broke in. "Klaus and Kol did a tour in France years ago." He directed the second statement towards Sage.

She glanced up at him before directing her gaze back at me. "Who turned you into a vampire, Marielle?"

"Is that what we are called? Vampires?" I couldn't help but ask; now I had a name.

"Yes. Vampire. Children-of-the-night, if you wish to be ambiguous." Finn answered, but his tone left me no doubt that they were still waiting for _my_ answer.

"I believe it was Kol, if he has brown hair and a cleft in his chin."

Finn sighed, like a tired parent. "He does."

"And I think Klaus was there. I remember another man, but I do not remember him clearly."

"Did he turn you on purpose?" Sage's unwavering gaze was slightly unnerving; her light blue eyes bore into me, as if she was trying to see what I was thinking.

I thought back to everything that had happened. No, I wouldn't have said that he turned me into a vampire on purpose. "If anything, it was an accident," I admitted. "I bit his finger before he bit me. I had his blood in my system when I died."

Finn made a disparaging noise with the back of his throat. "So you understand how one turns into a vampire."

"I...figured it out, yes. It was an easy conclusion to draw after I learned the healing properties of my blood."

"Do explain." Now Sage was just mocking me.

"Vampire blood, if ingested, cures whatever manner of injury you have." I paused, to collect my thoughts. "So if you die with the blood in you...I suppose becoming a vampire is the cure for death."

"Interesting theory," Sage quipped. "Fascinating, in fact."

I ignored her.

"How can you go out in the sunlight?" I asked. "Whenever I do, I burn."

Finn finally drew a chair and sat. I hadn't liked the fact that he had been standing; it made me look up at him when I spoke. He raised his right hand, showing me a gold ring on his middle finger. There was a jewel set in the middle. "This ring protects me from the sun. Sage has one as well."

I looked closely at it. "Lapis lazuli. I have some."

"It is not _just_ the lapis lazuli," Sage responded disdainfully. "A spell has been put on them to allow us to walk in sunlight."

"A spell?"

"You really know nothing about being a vampire, do you?" A triumphant glint in her eyes unnerved me.

After nearly a century of minimal contact with people, I didn't quite know how to handle a person like Sage, who seemed to dislike me without any cause. Even in my past human life, I didn't know anybody like that. So I would react how I usually did: quite honestly.

"Seeing as I've been living alone for the past 82 years, _no._ But I think I've done rather well. After all..." I grimaced. "I don't have anybody to hold my hand and guide me step-by-step like a child."

Sage's mouth was set in a grim line.

"Sage," Finn said warningly, putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked at it, looked back up at him, and smiled. And, surprisingly, it was genuine.

"I know," she replied softly. "I'm trying."

Finn turned back to me. "I turned Sage a year and a half ago," he said in explanation.

"And…?"

"No, I don't suppose you would know," he mused. "When a person is changed into a vampire, everything within them is…magnified, you could say. Sage was already territorial as a human." That was said with an amused smile. "I hope you are not offended."

I looked in askance at Sage (she was frowning at me), but decided to believe him anyways. "If you say so." Remembering something from earlier, I asked, "Are you fleeing from Klaus?"

Immediately their expressions became guarded. Finn answered first. "Yes. We are."

"Why?"

It was such a simple question, but the answer must have been complex at the way Finn and Sage seemed to be collecting their thoughts before speaking. I had already surmised that Klaus was a vampire, but I wanted to know why a vampire would hunt another one of his kind. Were they like humans in the way that there were always two sides? What was it?

Even though he was aware I could hear him, Finn murmured in Sage's ear, "Should I tell her the whole story?"

Sage struggled to answer. Now I saw what Finn had pointed out earlier; she was used to having Finn all to herself. She didn't want to share what they knew with me, a newcomer. But she was "trying", as she put it, and by trying, she would have to let him tell me.

"Fine," she said grudgingly. "You may."

Finn smiled and covered her hand with hers. "Thank you, my love."

* * *

><p>"I am an Original Vampire," he began. "I was not turned by another vampire. Rather, I was spelled into existence by my mother, a powerful witch."<p>

"Witch?" I asked hesitantly. "As in, witchcraft and sorcery?"

"Yes. My youngest brother, her youngest child had just been killed – and she wished to never lose another one in her family. So she used her magic to…transform us." He was sneering by now. "She turned us…most of us, at least, against our will."

"How was that possible?"

"It was a complex spell that involved the slaughtering of an innocent person. I wish not to explore the details, Marielle," Finn said shortly.

"Sorry."

He pursed his lips. "When I awoke as a vampire, my mother was there to give us these rings." He held up his hand again. "She had cast a spell upon them, to protect her children from the sun. As an Original, I will not die in the sunlight if I do not wear the ring, but I will still burn. Sage, on the other hand, can die." He turned his head towards her, and took her hand in his, showing me the ring. "So I gave her a ring."

"You had two?"

"My mother gave two to every one of her children," he said, smiling slightly. "But I digress. My brother Klaus – after his transformation, we learned that he was not my father's son. My mother had been unfaithful many years before. She had Klaus with a man who turned into a monster every full moon: a werewolf."

"What is - ?"

"A werewolf? Essentially, a werewolf is a human, except on the night of the full moon. Then, he will painfully transform into a wolf, with no control over his actions or thoughts. The only thing on his mind is to hunt, and to kill." Finn looked out into the distance, seemingly lost in thought.

"Is a werewolf…born like that?"

"No. His abilities lie dormant until he kills. As I mentioned earlier, the spell that turned all of us involved the death of an innocent. Klaus' werewolf side woke when he was turned into a vampire. My mother, being afraid, cast another spell to keep his werewolf side suppressed. Klaus saw it as the ultimate betrayal and ripped her heart from her chest, killing her. He told our siblings that our father had done it." Finn was gripping the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

I saw it clearly then: he might not have been happy at his mother for turning him into a vampire, but he was furious at Klaus for killing her in such a brutal, violent way.

"After that, only my father, Mikael, and my siblings left: Klaus, Elijah, Rebekah, and _Kol_."

"Kol…is your brother?" I managed to say.

Even Sage managed a smile at my choked tone.

"So Kol…is an Original vampire?" I asked, just for extra clarity. When they nodded, I groused, "Excellent. Just excellent."

"I would seriously reconsider if I was planning on taking revenge on an Original," Finn said, almost amused. "You would not live to tell the tale."

Pointedly, I said, "I can see that now, thank you very much."

He inclined his head and continued. "My father, after learning what sort of…diet we vampires were to live on, he was incredibly angry. He made it his life's goal to exterminate every single one of his children."

"His own children?"

Sage made an angry noise. "Yes. His own children."

"Klaus banded all of the siblings together and promised that we would be a family forever." Finn smiled grimly. "That was stretching the truth. What he really meant was that we would do his orders as he tried to find a way to undo our mother's spell that suppressed his werewolf abilities."

"So what happened?" I wanted to hear.

"I met Sage and fell in love." He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "I was tired of the lifestyle I was leading with my siblings. So I turned Sage into a vampire and left my family."

"Klaus was not happy." It was technically a question, but I phrased it as a sentence.

"Precisely. In his eyes, I had betrayed him by leaving. And he believed that love was a vampire's greatest weakness, especially to a vampire like…well, me. He's been pursuing me and Sage ever since we left."

"And he has not found you?"

"We have not stayed in another place for more than three day," Sage said quietly, rubbing the back of Finn's hand with her thumb.

Extraordinary. Their story, that is. I wasn't stupid; I knew they had left out some parts, but I was just happy that I got some of it. I finally knew where this all had come from, where my ancestry (so to speak) had started. And I had seen firsthand that all wasn't lost for me; I still had my chance to find love, as silly as it sounded.

"Are Original vampires any different than regular vampires?" I ventured to ask.

"I would say so," Sage said, smiling widely up at Finn.

If he could blush, I'm sure he would have.

"Yes, there are marked differences," he said, clearing his throat. "Normal vampires, like you and Sage, are vulnerable to wood and an herb called vervain."

"Disgusting," Sage grimaced.

"I never knew I was vulnerable to wood," I said, surprised.

"If you are stabbed with it, you will not heal," Finn said warningly. "And if you are stabbed with it in the heart, you will die."

I made the mental note in my head to be extra careful about that sort of business. While I didn't much like what I was, I didn't hate myself enough to wish to be killed. "And vervain? What is that?"

Finn stood and walked to a wooden dresser at the corner of the room. He drew a wrapped cloth out from one of the drawers and brought it back. Inside was a dried plant with purple flowers.

"Vervain," he said, presenting it to me. "It would barely burn an Original, but it would seriously harm you or Sage."

Cautiously, I brought a finger to it. It sizzled against my finger. "Ow."

"I have been making Sage drink a dose of vervain each morning, to build up a resistance to it," Finn stated casually.

"Why?"

"An Original vampire is able to compel a normal vampire," he said, rewrapping the cloth around the stalk of vervain. "It is much the same as when a vampire compels a human. If the human has ingested vervain or is wearing vervain on his or her person, compulsion will not work. I take it you know how compulsion works?"

"Yes…" I muttered distractedly. "I have done it once or twice in my time. So – if Sage drinks vervain, then she cannot be compelled by you or any of your siblings?"

"Correct," Finn said over his shoulder. He shut the vervain back into the drawer and returned to his seat.

"And if vervain is being used as a weapon against her, the effect will not be as great?"

"Precisely."

"Is there anything else that is imperative for me to know?"

I was honestly surprised that wood was dangerous to me. Though in the century I had lived, I suppose I had never been impaled with wood. Splinters, yes, but not stakes. But now I knew some of my weaknesses, I could be more alert and proactive in protecting myself. There would come a point in time when compulsion would not be enough.

Finn and Sage considered my question.

"Tell her about the constant," Sage murmured, touching his hand.

"Constant?"

Finn leaned forward, his expression the most intense I had seen as of yet. "You must listen to me, Marielle - this is perhaps the most important thing there is to being a vampire."

"The constant?"

"Yes. You know how vampires can live forever, if they can avoid being staked or burned up. It is, perhaps, our greatest curse. There is no consistency in our lives, no stability whatsoever. The greatest danger in a lifestyle like that...is that we risk losing ourselves. We risk losing everything about us that makes us _us_. Throughout the centuries, we will simply drift...drift in the meaningless void we call our lives." He sighed.

Suddenly he seemed much, much older than he looked. Not only did he seem older, but he also seemed tired; tired of living, tired of everything. I realized that he was older, perhaps much older than I was. He had seen a lot more, endured a lot more. His eyes were infinitely weary. They didn't belong on a face like his.

"And so we have the constant. Call it what you will. It is the one thing that will remain the same," he continued. "The one thing in our lives that will never change."

"But...how is that possible?"

A grim smile appeared. "You make it possible. You find that constant; and you never let it go."

"What is yours?" I ventured to ask. I knew it was a personal question; but I wanted to know.

"I drifted for quite some time," he admitted. "And I knew it. But I could not, for the life of me, find anything consistent in my life. Some vampires make the search for a constant the actual constant, and it seemed that was what I was to do. But then I found Sage." A tender smile lit up his eyes, making him seem young again. "And I plan on keeping her for a very long time."

"So the constant can be a person?"

"Yes, it can. I would almost say it would be best if it was a person." He inclined his head. "But to each his own."

My mind almost hurt at the implications. I had been drifting, as Finn had put it, for the last century. There wasn't any consistency in my life except for the routine moving from town to town. What he said made sense; I needed a constant. I needed an anchor. Something to keep me from drifting away from who and what I really was.

It seemed we didn't have anything else to discuss that night. I left their house for the night, agreeing to meet them the next evening. Maybe I was being overly perceptive, but it seemed Sage wanted to like me but couldn't actually bring herself to do it. She had become increasingly quiet as the night wore on, not as vocal in her hostility as before. I wouldn't have been averse to having a friend, if she would allow it.

I met them in their house early in the evening.

The entire discussion of yesterday had been taxing my mind. I had learned so much, but I was still hungry for much more. I had questions regarding everything, from whether or not animal blood could sustain a vampire to how long a vampire could last without blood. Maybe it was the fact that this was the first time my questions could be answered, or the fact that I was naturally inquisitive. Like yesterday, Finn had said that what a vampire was like as a human became magnified as a vampire.

"You seem antsy," Sage told me, in way of greeting.

"Just anxious," I replied smoothly.

"Hmph."

Finn gestured towards the seat I had occupied the day before. "Sit. We shall do our best to answer your questions."

"How did you know I had questions?"

The corner of Sage's mouth quirked. "Just a guess."

Well. I suppose she liked me today.

Suddenly Finn tensed, much as he had yesterday when he sensed me. "There is another vampire."

Sage whipped around towards me, suspicion and fear dripping from her very posture. "What did you do? Did you go running to Klaus to tell him where we were?"

"What? No!"

"Sage, be reasonable," Finn snapped. "She did not. We followed her yesterday and all today."

I was outraged. "You did what?"

He stood, eyes darting all over the room. "It was in our best interests. My apologies, Marielle."

"Well –"

Then the door burst off its hinges and the only other thing I registered was a cool hand wrapping around my throat, pinning me neatly against the wall.


	4. Chapter IV

*A/N: I've been writing long enough to know that readers are more interested in picking up from the cliff hanger than reading an author's note. So I'll shut up until the end.

And so, with that…

I give you Chapter IV.

And a disclaimer: I don't own TVD.

* * *

><p>"Stay absolutely still. If you move, I shall kill you."<p>

The only thing I could see was a pair of dark brown eyes. Intense and utterly frightening, they bore into mine as I tried to pry the hand off my throat. It wasn't as if I needed to breathe, but I preferred to have my airway unimpeded.

Then most curious feeling overtook me; it wasn't one I had felt before. It was like…it was almost as if my will was being sucked out of me and replaced with someone else's. I stopped struggling, hanging limp against the hand as my vision blurred.

My brain put two and two together. So that was what compulsion felt like. I hated it. I hated not being in control of myself. Was this how it felt for humans? If it was…

The hand dropped, and with it, so did I. I landed heavily on my feet, slumping against the wall as I massaged my throat and tried to get my bearings. What I saw scared me.

Finn was cornered by two menacing figures, one of them vaguely familiar – Klaus, I remembered. He – Finn – was lying on the floor, groaning and trying to pull out a silver dagger embedded in his stomach. Klaus and the other man (another brother, I presumed) leered over him.

Sage was nowhere in sight. But the door was thrown wide open and I assumed she ran out.

And the man before me. I recognized his face as easily as I would recognize mine. He was tall, with a cleft chin and a mop of brown hair. I suppose one could describe him as devilishly handsome; but there was absolutely nothing winsome about him to me. All I felt at that moment was indescribable: the strongest mix of hatred and rage to have ever descended on the earth was building up inside of me. Unbidden, Véronique's and Christophe's faces loomed in my mind. It was his entire fault…

The only thing keeping me from lunging for his throat was his compulsion.

"You thought you could leave your family, did you now?" Klaus sneered down at his eldest brother. "You thought you could just abandon us while you go about your merry way?" He knelt down and ripped the dagger out, causing Finn to grunt even louder in pain. He uncorked a small bottle of what seemed to be ash and dipped it in. "You…were…_wrong_."

And with that, he plunged it deep into Finn's heart.

I couldn't scream, but how I would have. Finn seemed to shrivel right before my very eyes, his skin going ashy and gauntly gray. Even if I had only known him for a day, he wasn't the type of person to deserve this end. All he wanted was a life with Sage, a life with love, a life without the unneeded complications Klaus brought.

And Klaus had effectively destroyed it all.

Kol must have sensed my silent anguish. "_Still_," he warned.

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to _kill_ him.

A blonde girl appeared in the doorway, looking irritated. "I lost the whore. She escaped between the alleyway of two houses."

She looked to be around my age, if not slightly younger. If anything, she looked entirely too young to be involved in the tracking down and killing of older brothers. But there she was, eyeing me with the contempt and superiority that came with being from old blood.

Klaus grimaced slightly. "No matter. She will surface eventually, looking for Finn's body. And we…we will be ready for her." He glanced up at his brother. "Elijah, be a dear and help me carry Finn's body."

Elijah looked to be the oldest of the family. His face showed faint lines and weariness, almost in the same way Finn's had. "Certainly."

Together Klaus and Elijah lifted Finn's lifeless body and started towards the door. Klaus turned to his younger siblings: "Rebekah, come. Kol…take care of her." He jerked his chin towards me. "I trust you'll know how to dispose of the body afterwards."

Then the three of them disappeared into the night, leaving me with my murderer.

* * *

><p>Kol smiled roguishly at me. He had backed away from me slightly, as if to observe me. Which, I reflected, was what he was most likely doing.<p>

The only light permeating the room was a single candle set on the table Finn, Sage, and I had been sitting at not five minutes ago. It created an atmosphere of mystery, of danger – one that was certainly unfolding before my very eyes.

He drew a chair and sat on it, facing me. I felt as if he was inspecting a prime piece of meat he was about to eat.

"You can talk," he said suddenly, looking into my eyes.

Immediately, I was able to move my mouth. The only thing was, I didn't want to say anything to the likes of him. Not now, at least.

"No? Well, that's all very fine. Come forward, why don't you. I _promise_ not to bite." His eyes flickered as I took two steps towards him. I hated how I was unable to look away. "Now, that's odd." He leaned forward in his chair, moving closer to me. "Tell me your name."

I should have asked Finn for vervain last night. "Marielle."

"Marielle. A lovely name. French, I believe. Such a lovely place." He quirked an eyebrow. "But what am I doing, telling a fine Frenchwoman about her home country? Preaching to the choir, indeed."

I made no effort to reply.

"I suppose I can do the talking if you wish to remain silent," he mused aloud. He raised his eyes to mine again. "Well, Marielle, I shall tell you something about myself: I enjoy the hunt."

A corner of my mouth lifted in disgust.

"_Ah_. A reaction from the stoic Marielle. Finally." He tilted his head to one side, smiling endearingly. "I can see you disapprove. Nonetheless, it is true." He spread his hands before him. "I enjoy – no, I _relish_ the hunt. More so than the kill. I enjoy hearing the breaths of fear, the meaningless fleeing – but what I enjoy the most…what I enjoy the most is the terror I find in the depths of their eyes."

He stood and stalked slowly towards me. "That abject terror. The fear of death, of pain. In a situation where self-preservation is unable to be exercised…" He moved behind me. I felt his breath at my neck as he spoke into my right ear. "It is to _die_ for.

"But in your beautiful green eyes – my dear Marielle – I see none of that fear." He was still behind me, and I couldn't twist around to see him. "I see none of the panic, even though I am about to kill you. I only see two things…hatred and anger." He spoke into my left ear now: "Would you care to tell me why that is?"

When I didn't reply, he chuckled. He was close enough behind me that I could feel the rumble in his chest. But then he slipped back in front of me and sat back on his chair. "If you do not wish to be compelled again, I suggest you answer."

I glared at him. "You killed me once before. The second time cannot possibly be as bad."

His entire body stilled. Gone was that joking, lilting manner from a few seconds ago. He was tense, I saw, and on guard. The change was almost frightening, and I knew for certain I wouldn't ever be able to predict what he would do next.

He appeared in front of me, gripping my face with his hands and forcing me to look up. "Tell me what you mean. And tell me the truth, damn it," he growled. "_Tell_ me!"

I yelped, but spoke quickly at his compulsion. "You were paid to kill me right after I gave birth," I managed to say, "but I had a drop of your blood in my body when you did! I awoke later as a vampire."

He released my face and turned away, but I saw it in his eyes: he was unnerved. And shocked. He remembered.

His back was still turned when he spoke, his voice slightly uneven. "Explain why you hate me."

I didn't want to, but I was still under his compulsion. I hadn't allowed myself to truly think of Veronique and Christophe, my son, in over fifty years. And now I was being forced to.

"My son's name was Christophe," I answered quietly, trying to keep my voice even as well. "He had my black hair and freckles. I l-loved him. But I did not want this life for him – so I had to give him up."

Kol whirled around, his eyes sharp. "You blame _me_?"

"I was forced out of Massalia by my own father. I had killed a man – my h-husband. The one who paid you to kill me. I lost e-everything and anyone I had ever cared about or loved. I was turned…" I took a breath in an unsuccessful attempt to regain my composure. "I was turned into a monster."

By now my eyes were filled with tears and I was determined not to let _him_, of all people, to see me cry. But to no avail – a tear or two leaked out of the corner of my right eye and trickled down the side of my face. I cursed myself at showing weakness.

His face was especially hard to read; it was inscrutable. When he raised his hand, I inwardly flinched. He sensed it, and stilled his hand. "I am not about to hurt you," he said roughly, not quite meeting my eyes. Then he continued the movement and wiped my tears with his thumb.

I was shocked, needless to say. So shocked I wasn't sure what to think of it.

"Why have you not turned off your humanity?" he said abruptly, turning away from me. "It makes life easier to bear."

"Perhaps it does," I conceded slowly, "but it does not make life worth living. I decided long ago that I wanted all the pain along with the joy."

Kol sat back down on his chair, observing me once more. But the playfulness was gone. I almost missed it. "I admire you for it, but you are a fool if you believe our lives have any worth. There is no worth, no purpose. Nor will there ever be."

"I refuse to believe that. Have you never heard what Finn said?"

A wry smile curved his lips. It was almost a genuine one. "I grew up in the same household as my brother. I have heard a lot of things that he said."

"Yesterday, he told me about the constant, the one thing in a vampire's life that gives purpose. He told me that some vampires make the search for the constant the actual constant. Sometimes it is a person. Sometimes it is an object. But regardless, the constant is what keeps us from drifting apart from ourselves, so to speak."

Kol was silent as he thought. "He chose _that woman_ as his constant, I assume."

"Sage? Yes. And he was hers."

"And what, Marielle, do you believe will be her constant now?" There was an unmistakable challenge in his voice now, a cunningness that I wasn't so fond of.

"I believe her search for him will be her constant. She will wait, as long as she draws breath."

"Then she will wait for a very long time," Kol said dismissively. Then he smiled suddenly. "You do realize that you are _talking_ to me."

I opened my mouth to retort, then shut it when I realized he was exactly right. I had been talking, almost carrying on a conversation, really, for minutes. How had that happened? It had started with the compulsion, but afterwards…I refused to explore the implications.

"You seem at war with yourself," he observed. "Your initial hatred has died down somewhat, but my guess is that you wish to keep hating me."

I had an epiphany. Even before I knew what a constant was, even before Finn told me everything about it…I already had one. It was my hatred for Kol, my anger against him. I had nursed it for nearly a century. It was the one thing in my life that was consistent. And now – now that I had talked to the man, I found I couldn't keep hatred of that magnitude against him. I could easily resent him, but the hate was considerably less. Christophe and Veronique had died long ago, and as before, it was time for me to move on. It was simply the way of things.

I had been trying to move on, in my own way, by refusing to think of them; but I couldn't truly let them go without letting go of my anger towards Kol for what I had lost. Inwardly, I felt a sort of peace with myself as I released it.

He waggled his fingers at me. "A myriad of emotions just went through those pretty eyes of yours. I take it you did some soul searching and discovered that I truly am not a person to hate?"

"That depends on whether or not you are going to kill me." My own words surprised me; I had spoken without thinking, but it didn't make them any less true.

All teasing went out of his eyes again. His sudden mood swings were enough to alarm any sane person. I got the same feeling around Kol that I did around the ocean: be careful.

He was silent for a prolonged amount of time. I fidgeted on the inside; what was he thinking? Was he mulling over his choices? Was he seriously considering killing me?

I had no silly notions; I knew he could kill me in an instant if he wanted. He was older than I, and an Original to boot. Anything he wanted to do, he could. If he was to decide that he'd kill me…it would be no use fighting or trying to escape. My life was, quite literally, in his hands. I didn't like that feeling either.

Just before the silence became unbearable, he spoke. "I have decided."

I waited.

He stood and walked towards the windows, peering out to the night sky. "Every night I look at the stars, just to see their beauty. Perhaps I do not know what they are, or how far away they are, but I admire them nonetheless." He turned to me and smiled slightly. Not the wicked smile, but a true one. "They are the one thing in this godforsaken creation that is not tainted by man."

I was confused, but decided to stay silent.

"I am old, Marielle, older even than you. I have lived longer, seen more. And I will continue to live and see and be. I will continue to watch the cycles of mankind as they progress and regress. I will continue to watch as they destroy, as they try and fix what does not need to be fixed."

I saw the remarkable similarity between him and Finn now. Maybe they didn't look much alike physically; it was all in their eyes. Their eyes seemed as old as time. All of them, in fact; Klaus, Elijah, Rebekah, Kol, Finn. Their eyes were weary and tired, even if their shells did not. They were paying the ultimate price of being the first. And that scared me: would _I_ have the same eyes in a hundred years?

"I have seen enough of mankind as an observer," Kol continued, turning back to the window. "It pains me, really. Pointless wars, deaths. Constant destruction of what is good. Personally, I am weary of it all."

"Then why did you let Klaus kill Finn?" I asked quietly.

"Klaus is my brother."

"So is Finn," I pointed out.

"Finn _abandoned_ us," he growled, spinning around. "For a commoner woman. A _whore_."

"I-I am sorry," I stammered.

He seemed almost as surprised as I was at his outburst. Then he became amused. "Do not be. Finn did not abandon us because of _you_. And besides, he is not truly dead."

Throughout all this, I couldn't help but wondering _why_ he was telling me all this. The man was pouring out his heart to me, someone insignificant in his grand scheme of things. It didn't make sense.

"You must be wondering why I am telling you this," he continued smoothly. Was he able to read my mind? "Well, for one, you will not remember anything I told you once this night is out. And another…" He eyed me closely. "Perhaps I needed to say it."

"To say what?"

"That I do not believe the creator has a right to kill his living creation…not when there is nothing wrong with her." He tipped my chin up. "I will never admit it to anyone, least of all my family – but there _are_ things I regret doing. And now I can add turning you to the very long list."

"Are you going to set me free?"

He released my chin and took a step back. "Therein lies what I thought to be a dilemma. While you are alive, there will always be the danger of you running into Klaus, who – I might add – will be mightily displeased with me for not finishing my duty."

"Please – I promise to stay out of his way. I will keep my existence a secret." I didn't know what he had in store for me. Even though I now knew he was not going to kill me…I couldn't help but think what he was _going_ to do couldn't be good.

"It is not enough," he said slowly. "Marielle…I apologize for what I am about to do."

Then it dawned on me, what he intended. "No – don't!"

"Look into my eyes," he commanded. "And do not look away."

I fought against it hard, trying with all my might, but I couldn't. That helpless, draining feeling enveloped me once again, and I was forced against my will to stare into his dark eyes. Eyes full of regret and apology.

"Across the sea, there is a New World, not yet discovered, still mostly untouched by man. Sail there; find a witch if you have to. Live and prosper. Build for yourself a new life. Discover your constant, discover what you love. Forget meeting me, Finn, my siblings. Forget all that happened. Forget all I told you about myself." He gripped my face in his hands. "But remember everything Finn taught you. Stay true to yourself – and pure. Do you understand?"

"I do," I murmured, my will slowly adjusting to his.

"And in the case my siblings ever return there…take on a new name. I never want Klaus to find you." His expression was intense again, as it had been when he first compelled me. "_Never_."

Slightly dazed, I asked, "What shall my name be?"

He thought for a long moment. Then he smiled sadly. His lips moved, but I remembered no more.

* * *

><p>*AN: I was really, really nervous writing this chapter. I had the idea in my head, but I didn't quite know how I'd portray the interaction between Marielle and Kol. I wanted to show Marielle softening towards Kol, and I wanted to show that all Kol's bravado was a mask. I also wanted to show that he felt free to be honest with Marielle, even if he'd wipe her memory afterwards. Hopefully I was successful with the execution. If not, well…feel free to leave a review to tell me your thoughts.

And the romance is coming, I swear. I'm just waiting for the time period when they start speaking to each other with contractions.

Thanks to those who reviewed; you guys are awesome. It was probably because of you guys I managed to update so quickly, as compared to the gap of time between the updating of my previous chapters.


	5. Chapter V

*A/N: Hi again. I'm trying to be really good about updating; I just haven't found as much time as I would have liked to write. And I want to apologize beforehand for all the liberties I've taken with history, even though I really am trying to stay true to the timeline.

So a lot of time has passed since we last saw Marielle (and is that even her name anymore? Hmm…). She's forgotten everything that happened that night, but I just wanted to clarify that she also forgot who turned her, when Kol compelled her to "forget all that happened." She basically forgot anything that ever caused her emotional anguish.

And please – please – please read until the end before you think, "What the heck is this?" And then review.

And so, with that…

I give you Chapter V.

And a disclaimer: I don't own TVD.

* * *

><p><em>1913<em>

"A Seurat, you say?" The man's double chin wobbled from excitement.

I nodded, barely suppressing a smile. "You've heard of _A Sunday Afternoon_."

"Yes, of course. No self-respecting art collector ignores the most famous Seurat in the world."

"Then you probably know that Monsieur Seurat produced many preliminary oil sketches and drawings in the two years he spent painting _A Sunday Afternoon_."

"So you have a draft." Suddenly the man's countenance grew cold. "I came to purchase a finished Seurat, not a draft."

"It's not a draft," I assured him. "It's a rework of the original; he completed it shortly after he finished _A Sunday Afternoon_."

If this buyer didn't accept my sale soon, I'd cut my losses and leave. There were plenty of other potential buyers in New York. Jack and I couldn't afford to stay in one city for long, but even _he_ had to make allowances for New York City.

It didn't help that _this_ buyer in particular, while he had plenty of respect for himself, had no respect for _me_. As ever, I was sorely tempted to tell him I had been well over 900 years when he was born. Unfortunately, this was the case for most male clients – no respect for women, even if the mentioned woman could leave him dead in less than a second.

And it didn't help at all that I looked like I was barely at the age of 20.

The man sneered and wiped a pink handkerchief over his balding head. "I knew what I'd get from meeting with a little girl of a fence – no quality and all talk!"

Inwardly I sighed. Outwardly I rose to my feet. "Good day, Mr. Delaney."

"What? Wait – where are you going?" He scrambled to his feet as I started walking away. "Come back!"

I turned. He stopped short at my cold look. "You've wasted my time, Mr. Delaney. I was willing to do business with you. But I am _not_ willing to suffer your insults. Good day."

And I left him standing agape in the corner of the café.

When I was a safe distance away, I sighed again and rubbed my forehead. I didn't really have a headache – I didn't _get_ headaches – but it seemed like the right thing to do. I had been in the fencing business for so long that it seemed as natural as breathing; Jack had come later. It was just buyers like Mr. Delaney that thoroughly irked us.

The Seurat we had gotten from a thief we'd worked with before. We didn't ask any questions, and he didn't ask for too much money in return. Though neither Jack nor I had ever seen him, we knew well enough that the relationship was the best we could ask for.

I turned the corner and hurried back to our home – Jack's and mine. We had purchased it decades ago, knowing that New York would be enough to keep us busy. The only thing was that we had to be careful about showing our faces, because there was an elderly neighbor or two that remembered us from the last time we had lived here.

Our lives had been like this for so long; the constant moving, the avoidance of places we'd lived before. I missed our home in San Francisco, but I had heard that it was long destroyed in the quake earlier this year.

I unlocked the door and stepped into the foyer. "Jack?"

In an instant, he stood before me, powerful forearms crossed. A swatch of his brown hair had fallen over his forehead. "I missed you."

"Did you?" I smiled cheekily up at him. "I wasn't gone for all that long."

"You were gone when I woke up. So you owe me, love."

I set my purse and umbrella down and started to remove my coat, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. I should've never tried; nonchalant around Jack was near impossible. "Oh? And what could I _possibly_ owe you?"

He fitted his hands around my waist and drew me against him. My heart – my dead heart – skipped a metaphoric beat.

"My good-morning kiss, for one." He smiled down at me. "My good-morning cuddle, for another. And my good-morning romp through the sheets…I'll definitely be wanting that."

I laughed. "Jack!"

"What?" he said innocently, hoisting me up in his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.

Looking him in his dark brown eyes, I leaned forward and touched my nose to his. "I love you."

His expression softened and he brushed his lips across mine. "I love you too." Then he playfully nipped at my ear. "So now that I got my kiss, let's skip the cuddle and get straight to the sheets."

"_Jack_!" But we both laughed like teenagers as he carried me off to our bedroom.

* * *

><p>I awoke later to the feel of Jack stroking my hair. "Mmm."<p>

His hand stilled. "You want me to stop?"

"No, it feels good."

He pressed a kiss against my neck and resumed stroking. "We need to hunt later."

"I know."

I remembered the moment I had met him. My Jack. It was an ordinary day, 1811 in Baltimore, Maryland, before the War of 1812, and I had just purchased a new hat. He was standing in the shade, leaning against the wall of a barbershop, just looking at the people that walked by. His face showed no emotion; at best, a flicker of interest or disdain.

But what caught my attention was that he was like _me_. He was a vampire. I had no way of knowing how old he was, but at least he was old enough that he could control himself. And I had realized that he was outside during the day.

That's when I noticed his ring.

It was exactly like mine.

I don't remember how I got mine, but I know I was in Florence at the time. The memories always bothered me, because it seems like there's a gap. But since I can't remember, there's no use dwelling on it.

Anyways, my ring – it has a simple gold band with a jewel set in the middle. It protects me from the sun; I wear it on my left ring finger. I always thought I was the only vampire to have a ring like that, but when I saw that Jack had it, I was deathly curious.

When our eyes met, I had the strangest feeling, like I had seen him before but I knew I hadn't. I definitely would've remembered if I had; I don't think anyone could easily forget a face like his.

I had stood rooted at the spot as he slowly sauntered forward. Though I couldn't understand why, I saw mostly shock in his eyes: shock and a sliver of fear.

He had taken my hand and brought it to his lips. "Jack McCann, at your service." He had a lilting British accent.

What happened next is something Jack likes to tease me about: I stammered. I was an 800-year-old vampire, and I stammered. "Z-Zoé Fortescue." It was the surname I'd been going with for nearly a decade.

"You're like me, Ms. Fortescue." He looked closely at me. "Aren't you?"

"I would say so."

A slight smirk had crossed his face. "You don't sound very certain."

"Mr. McCann." I remembered trying to sound stern.

"Begging your pardon, Ms. Fortescue, but we're not human. The decorum and fancy talking? I don't like it."

I had laughed and admitted, "I don't either."

Over the years, I had met a handful of vampires, some of which I liked and most of which I didn't. But Jack – Jack was different. Something in me had seen a kindred spirit in him. Within a year we were inseparable. Within two, he asked him to marry me. For someone who usually turned up his nose at human customs, he sure did try.

"What're you remembering, Mrs. McCann?" he murmured in my ear, drawing me back to the present. He had wrapped his arms around me from behind.

"Our wedding."

He chuckled. "Which one?"

"Our first one. The one in the vineyard."

"I remember that one. The wedding with all the bugs crawling _all over_…"

I dug my elbow into his ribs as he chortled some more. "That's my favorite wedding. Don't spoil it for me."

"Yes, ma'am."

We lay in comfortable silence for a while longer. Days like this were perfect. Sometimes Jack and I would be too busy meeting with buyers or just plain busy to spend time together. It sounded odd, I know, but it was true. Every now and then we'd take a day – or a couple of days, even – to just be.

"How was the meeting for the Seurat?" he eventually asked.

I groaned. "Terrible."

"Why? What happened?" He propped up his upper body on his elbow and looked down at me. I, in turn, looked up.

"Delaney barely even let me make my case. This Seurat is closest he will ever get to _A Sunday Afternoon_, and he didn't even let me get two words in."

"Daft man."

"None of them take me seriously. Sometimes I think it's a curse that I'm trapped in this body forever."

"You don't hear me complaining." He used a finger to trace my jawline. "I happen to think you're perfect. Not a single flaw to you."

I felt tears in my eyes. "You're so good to me."

"That's _probably_ because I love you."

"_Probably_?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He rolled so that he was on top of me, holding his weight up with his elbows. Then he kissed me to the very depths of my soul, driving me crazy in that way that only he could. His kiss was hungry, fierce even – and all Jack.

"Definitely," he growled.

* * *

><p>When we first met, Jack refused to drink animal blood and I refused to kill people. It was a delicate topic to breach. He kept on insisting that animal blood wasn't enough to sustain him or me and I kept on insisting that killing humans was evil. Jack was the one who came up with a solution; it wasn't a very good one, but it was acceptable.<p>

We only ever went after strong, healthy men that could stand losing a pint or two of blood. We'd drink some, Jack would compel him to forget, and we'd move on to another healthy male until we had our fill. I never liked attacking humans, but my level of control was great enough that I never killed.

"Had enough?"

I slipped my hand into his as we made our way home through the streets of New York. "Yes."

"Good." He paused, inhaled as if he was about to speak, and then stopped. The process repeated for a little while before I took pity on him.

"Whatever you want to say, just say it." I squeezed his hand.

"Okay." He shook his head, as if to clear it. "Someone contacted me about the Seurat."

"_What_?"

"Earlier, when you weren't home. We got a letter from a courier."

It wasn't all that strange. Most of our clients were thieves that couldn't risk showing their faces in New York, so almost all communication was through messengers. We had a telephone, but rarely used it.

"That's not so strange," I said.

"No, except this courier was compelled."

Now _that_ was strange.

"How did you know?"

"I asked him who sent him," Jack replied simply. "He said he couldn't tell me. Then he looked confused and said he couldn't remember and he didn't know, even when I tried to bribe him. He just said that he was told to deliver the message."

Now I was supremely curious. "What was the message?"

Jack reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a neat square of paper. "Interested in the Seurat," he read. "Meet at 4:00 tomorrow for tea at your house. No questions asked."

"I think it's sort of suspicious."

"Me too," he agreed. "But it looks like we don't have a say in the matter."

I took the card out of his hand. "It's a nice card, though. The message is printed on nice paper – definitely not cheap. Probably just a rich old gentleman vampire used to having his way."

"That likes art," Jack added.

"And tea. Maybe he's British," I said contemptuously, poking fun at Jack's accent.

"Or French," he poked back. "I absolutely – cannot – stand French people."

"Well, that's rather unfortunate for you, as you're married to one."

Jack heaved a sigh. "I know. Whatever did I do to deserve a fate such as this?"

I laughed and burrowed closer into his side.

* * *

><p>Jack and I were ready for our guest by 3:55. All of our refreshments were laid out on our finest china in the drawing room; the Seurat was neatly tucked away behind a dresser.<p>

We had spent all morning in the kitchen, preparing the meal together, chatting about everything and nothing. After a century, being together was as easy as breathing; it felt natural. Of course we didn't always get along; if we did, it'd be boring.

For some reason, I was thinking about this as I looked critically over the table, at every little morsel of food and every bit of decoration. Jack came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, drawing me against him.

"It's perfect, Zoé," he murmured against my neck. "Why do you worry?"

I sighed. "I don't know. I'm just feeling…anxious. Like something's going to go wrong." I turned to look up at him. "It's not something I can easily put into words, Jack."

Smiling slightly, he kissed my forehead. "If something does go wrong," he promised, "I will protect you." He tilted my chin up to look at him. "I will _always_ be there to protect you."

I covered his hand with mine. Times like this made me realize all over again how lucky I was to have found Jack, my constant. For centuries, the search for a constant had been my own; that is, until I found him. If ever I lost him…

No. I refused to think about it.

The doorbell jolted us into action. Jack grabbed my hand and squeezed. "Here's to getting rid of the Seurat," he said, grinning like a little boy.

I let him go ahead to open the door, choosing to stay behind and check the food one more time. Everything was in order. Then why was I so worried?

In the background, I heard Jack open the door. "Good afternoon! Welcome to our…" His voice trailed away. "_Klaus_?"

This didn't bode well at all. I sped to the doorway in time to see a polished-looking man step inside, seemingly amused by Jack's shocked expression. He looked dreadfully familiar, much as Jack had seemed to me, except in a dark, sinister way. Without a doubt I knew that this man – this _vampire_ – should not be in my house. And I knew I should not be anywhere near him.

The man spotted me, and a menacing smile appeared on his lips. He cocked his head and turned to Jack.

"I see you've been busy…_brother_."

* * *

><p>*AN: Review if you want to see more!


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